


and possibly i like the thrill.

by diaghileafs



Category: The Hour
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaghileafs/pseuds/diaghileafs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumn 1957. She’s telling herself it’s just a coincidence; it isn’t him at all, he’ll be in Spain or France or God-knows-where, it doesn’t matter to her. It doesn’t matter at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and possibly i like the thrill.

Lix is drunk and Bel is lonely. They’ve been celebrating, of sorts in some obscure pub neither of them care to remember the name of, because they’re getting their show back. Finally- after ten months of wishing and waiting- they’d been given a second chance, Bel still has the telegram from a  _R. Brown_ tucked away in her coat pocket, and Lix has said nothing - using the her joy as an excuse to get unspeakable drunk, when she feels anything but. She’s telling herself it’s just a coincidence; it isn’t him at all, he’ll be in Spain or France or God-knows-where, it doesn’t matter to her. It doesn’t matter at all. Not here, in the midnight air watching Bel fumble for her keys, smoking a cigarette. It doesn’t matter anywhere anymore, that’s what she tells herself.

"Abracadabra,” Bel mutters at her side, opening the door, melancholic yellow light pooling around them from the lobby, “coming up?”

The evening’s hot, Lix’s fingers feel clammy from whiskey and the fag burning between them, her head’s beginning to ache – she needs to be at home, in bed to wake up and realise that this is all some nightmare. So, she shakes her head, pulling her coat tighter around her, “not tonight, sweetheart.”

The younger woman peers at her through the door, already on the other side, head lolled against the doorframe, “oh, come on,” her words are slurred indulgently, pleading almost, “I have some gin in the cupboard.”

Lix sighs, stubs out her cigarette, “darling-”

“One drink,” Bel leans over and takes her hand- grip like a vice- “that’s all I ask.”

\---

But it hadn’t been one drink, it’s never just  _one_ drink. It’s two, three, four until they’re passing the bottle to and fro like schoolgirls, buzzing with rebellion and excitement, until Bel’s lips have found their way to Lix’s – teeth, lipstick and moans. Their bodies work together in perfect contrast; Bel’s curves and Lix’s languid limbs tangling with hers on the sofa. They don’t think; pleasure, indulgence don’t mean anything – even as Bel’s hands work under Lix’s shirt and they gasp – they gasp and Bel laughs, “let’s go to bed.”

 And Lix allows herself to be led into the bedroom, sit on the edge of the tiny bed to be undress like a child because she doesn’t care, because nothing matters in this room; this haven of peeling wallpaper and perfume where everything else seems insignificant compared to Bel’s form lingering above her, silhouetted in bands of lamppost lights streaming through the window, cutting through the midnight sky and constellations named for the heroines of legends: Andromeda, the Pleiades... She belonged in their company now, her gallant darling girl. Lix freezes as Bel’s thumb and index finger curl around her bra strap, she breathes her name and Bel steps away.

 “What is it?” she asks, watching Lix shrink back on the bed, her tone ringing out in the silence with its acidity, as though she’s worried this is the one exam she can’t pass and Lix would have laughed if things had been different, if she weren’t half naked and tactless from the whiskey.

 “I-” she tries, resting a hand on the bedpost as to steady herself, eyes squeezed shut to stop the unwelcome, ridiculous tears which are already stinging on her cheeks, “it’s been a long time, darling, I’m being silly.”

 Bel catches her hand as it flies up to wipe her cheeks, “oh, Lix,” the girl presses hot kisses to Lix’s mouth, highlighting each word, “you’re marvellous, you’re beautiful, you’re glorious,” and as they scatter clothes around the room in their blissful prelude, feeling nothing and everything, Lix does not think of Randall Brown.

 

 


End file.
